


The Second Cursed Child

by arthurignatius



Series: The Second Cursed Child [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthurignatius/pseuds/arthurignatius
Summary: New Years Eve 2016. Remus is clinging to the remnants of his family, eleven years after his worst fears were realised. I'm rubbish at summaries but basically I thought it would be interesting to knit the world of the Cursed Child together with the prospect of Remus and Tonks survivng the battle of Hogwarts.





	

31st December 2016 

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday my darling, happy birthday to you! I ate some cake on your behalf, chocolate of course. You do share 50% of your genes with your father so their is a fair chance that you would enjoy chocolate just as much as he does.

I love you so much. It physically pains me that I cannot tell you that. 

Mum 

———————————————————————————————————————————

Remus’ hand hovered over the handle on his son’s bedroom door. Not only an hour ago he’d said good night to Teddy and tucked him into his bed. It seemed like a silly thing to do to a seventeen year old but tonight, of all nights, he needed to. Plus the fact that Teddy had been feeling ill with some kind of upset stomach which he put down to eating at least five times is own body weight in the last week alone. Remus sighed and feeling all of his nearly fifty six years and gripped the handle but only tentatively poked his head around the door. Teddy’s mop of blue hair was just about visible, illuminated by the moonlight seeping through his curtains. Just a half moon tonight, but still as repulsive to Remus. 

Teddy’s room was the usual mess. Parchment strewn across the desk, the debris from the last minute scramble to complete homework. The remnants of Christmas decorations remained; a miniature dancing elf toy was now definitely flagging somewhat and kept having to take a break from its seemingly endless prancing, leaning on an open copy of ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’. Strains of tinsel and ribbon still lay strewn between the bookcase and the wardrobe although they too were now looking a little bedraggled. Only two more sleeps until Teddy would be back on the Hogwarts express for his last spring term at the school. 

Teddy’s appointment as Head Boy had come as a surprise to Teddy but not to Remus. Teddy had grown up to be a sensitive leader rather than the headstrong type that had previously held the position of Head Boy. Remus knew that McGonagall had been working to take the focus of the school away from individual heroism towards collective responsibility and a kinder, more equitable learning environment. This was mirrored in what Hermione was trying to do at the Ministry and Remus was convinced that she would soon be Minister for Magic. 

Remus heard the front door opening downstairs and a muffled conversation before it closed, the noise of which made Teddy stir slightly in his sleep. The boy’s back was to his father, his face buried in his pillow. Remus suddenly felt a pang followed by an irrational anger. He didn’t want anything to disturb Teddy, he wanted his son to sleep perfectly. Truth be told, although he knew that the visitors downstairs were coming with the best intentions, he just wanted to be alone with his family, or rather what was left of it, the parts that by some miracle Remus and his affliction hadn’t managed to totally ruin. Teddy shifted again, snuffling slightly. Remus crouched, softly placing a hand on Teddy’s arm. 

He could just about hear the chink of glasses downstairs and the scraping of chairs across the stone kitchen floor. He knew that he would have to go down and join them eventually, Molly would see to that, but for now he was content to be here, crouching on his aching heels with his son. His precious boy.

———————————————————————————————————————————

Teddy had gone to bed early, deliberately trying to avoid his Dad, making up some story about feeling ill. Remus had hovered around Teddy all day and although there was a small, perhaps cruel, part of him that just wanted his Dad to snap out of it, Teddy did sort of understand why. Eleven years today since it happened. Teddy had only been six years old at the time and as such his memories were a little patchy. However what he did distinctly remember was his Dad picking him up and not letting him go for what felt like over a month. When Teddy woke up, Remus would come and pick him up, carrying him downstairs to breakfast where Teddy would sit on Remus’ knee whilst he ate, his Dad’s face buried in the back of his small son’s neck. And so the morning would continue, and the afternoon and the evening, with Remus holding Teddy close to him. He didn’t say much. Just that he loved Teddy. He said that a lot. And that he was sorry. He said that a lot too. 

Despite the fact that his Dad went manic with decorations and food and music and generally gaiety, the Christmas break at home was always difficult, but this year even more so. It was a ‘landmark’ year. It would be one of those birthdays that would have been call for proper celebration if all had gone well. But all had not gone well and Teddy thought that it would be very unlikely that had the child survived, they may not have been well enough to attend Hogwarts anyway. This particular reality was one that all those around him seemed to be sweeping under a rather large rug. This was not to say that Teddy was unsympathetic to his parents. Losing a child was something that you never really got over and Teddy himself often wondered what life would be like with a sibling. He supposed that they would probably argue a bit but at the core of it all would be something strong, born out of a shared experience growing up with the enigmatic and eccentric Remus and Nymphadora Lupin. It would also be nice to have someone else who had a werewolf as one of their parents. Or rather, someone else who had a werewolf as a parent that had been created in love not rage or hate or malice or whim. Teddy knew that after the Second Wizarding War there was a spike in the number of ‘halfies’, particularly those fathered by Greyback or one of his pack. Teddy himself was not affected at all by his father’s lycanthropy but he also knew that there were those who were born with varying degrees of the condition. Teddy never knew whether the child had been a boy or a girl. His parents never said and he did not want to ask. But he assumed that they had been afflicted with a particularly virulent form of lycanthropy and had been unable to survive their own birth or had died very shortly after. 

Teddy shifted slightly in his bed and snuffled, wondering if he should turn and face Remus but decided not to. He loved his father, but he did not like the way he coddled him. When Teddy became Head Boy, he thought that his Dad would start to see him more as an adult and a leader but that had not yet really happened. Bizarrely, Teddy thought, it was when Teddy announced that he was in a relationship with Victoire Weasley that had instigated the shift. It had also prompted ‘The Talk’ again, as well as Remus’ own personal warning about lycanthropy, which was less pleasant. But this holiday, all that progress seemed to have been wiped out. Whilst on New Year’s Eve, other people in Teddy’s year were out celebrating, he was stuck in bed, faking nausea. Being a Lupin meant that New Years Eve meant something else entirely. It was not a day of celebration. It was a day of remembering lost potential and something that Teddy found very difficult. He never knew how to behave or what to say and this year he chickened out. Deep down, he knew that he should go downstairs and talk to people but there was a mildly selfish part of him that told him to stay buried under his duvet. It was not as if he would be much missed anyway, he thought with a bitterness that surprised him. He rebuked himself for that and immediately felt guilty. After all, he was showered with affection 365 days of the year and had grown up feeling utterly loved and secure. What more could he ask for? 

Teddy felt the weight of his father’s hand on his arm and heard a slight creak as presumably Remus moved to sit on his heels. Teddy immediately wanted to turn around and tell Remus to either sit on the bed or stand up because that position could surely not be comfortable for him. He was about to do so, feign waking up, when after a few minutes he felt his father’s face come briefly to rest on his arm. His arm was now damp. Remus was silently crying and Teddy did not know what to do. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

Molly, Arthur and Ginny had let themselves in. Tonks had given them a key many years ago now and Molly in particular often popped in to see the Lupins, dropping off some knitted item of clothing or a dish of food or occasionally both. 

“Crikey” Arthur said as he entered the hall which was covered in decorations “Remus doesn’t hold back at Christmas does he?” 

“Can you blame him?” Ginny replied. “I mean, he’s finally got a family to celebrate Christmas with. He didn’t have that for years.” Arthur sighed and nodded. Molly meanwhile had headed straight into the kitchen and was already pouring glasses of drink for everyone. Harry had once described Molly as being “a little like Mary Berry on the gin front”. Ginny and Ron had looked at him utterly baffled whereas Hermione had spit out her drink and was doubled up laughing. Molly handed glasses to Ginny and Arthur and clinked them together, toasting the year to come early. 

This year James, Albus and Lily had gone to Ron and Hermione’s. Sometimes they came to Remus and Tonks’ house but Molly and Ginny weren’t sure if that was necessarily going to be a good idea this year, not least because Albus was turning into a rather unpredictable and moody young man. Apparently nine was a very difficult age. James was itching to turn eleven so that he could get his Hogwarts letter. He had decided that he was going to be in Gryffindor and Harry had to gently keep reminding him that that was not necessarily how it worked despite the fact that Harry secretly wanted all his children to be in Gryffindor and frankly would be disappointed with any other outcome. Ginny on the other hand was more liberal and often voiced the view that life might be a bit quieter and less perilous if the children turned out to be Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and had not inherited Harry’s hero complex. 

Molly began working on a chilli for the evening whilst Ginny assisted. Arthur, who was utterly inept in the kitchen, instead busied himself looking through a stack of books that Remus was obviously going through for work. Arthur had long since retired from the Ministry although his interest in Muggles had not waned one iota. He found that having Hermione as a daughter in law was a mine of information and often made excuses to keep visiting her parents so that he could “embed himself in the Muggle world”. Sadly, however, they too were unable to tell him what the exact function of a rubber duck was. Some things, it seemed, would remain a mystery. 

“You know that Harry will take over the cooking as soon as he comes Mum” Ginny said, smiling softly. Initially Ginny had been unhappy with Harry cooking as she linked it so clearly to his time with the Dursleys where he had been made to cook but never got to eat what he made. Ginny always insisted that Harry ate with her and the children and that he always served himself first. But Harry said that he enjoyed cooking as something that he did to take care of his family. He joked that his time at the Dursleys had to be good for something. He also did not let any of the children do chores apart from keep their rooms vaguely tidy.

“Remus sent an owl over earlier saying that Teddy was a little under the weather and that he’d come down when Tonks arrived because he’s upstairs with him” Molly said as she lit the hob with her wand. 

“Wondered where he was” Arthur mused, not looking up from his book. “After all, this is both his house and his kitchen.”

“Should we go up and see if they’re OK?” Ginny asked. Molly said not. After all, it could not be too serious or else he would have called Tonks home. Remus had been known to take Teddy home from Hogwarts from something as little as a heavy cold in the past so this must be nothing in comparison to that. Although, Molly had a sneaking suspicion that Teddy’s sudden illness had something to do with the fact that this evening could potentially be difficult and he wanted to stay out of the way. Having lost her parents, her siblings and her son, she could sort of see where Teddy was coming from with this. It was all a bit overwhelming. There were days when she barely could face Arthur, let alone anyone else. George was the same. He’d recently cut and dyed his hair so that he would stop looking like Fred when he looked at himself in the mirror in the morning. Grief, it seemed, hit people in different ways and manifested itself in a variety of ways, often when you least expected it. 

———————————————————————————————————————————

Tonks sealed the envelope and addressed the card. She turned it over in her hands, tracing the outline of the addressee’s name on the envelope. It was a silly tradition but one that she still kept. Tonks knew that no-one was ever going to read these cards, but it brought her an odd kind of comfort. She didn’t dare tell Remus about them. Although they had been married for over seventeen years now, his reaction to something like this was unpredictable. After all, she still had not really forgotten his short flight from the family prior to Teddy’s brith. It was a minor miracle, she thought, that he did not do the same after the birth of their second child. 

Tonks placed the card in the bottom draw of her desk in the Ministry of Magic, along with the other ten that had been written in the past along with a stack of unsent letters, all to the same addressee. In amongst the chaos of her office, it was the only tidy element. The draw also had a slight perception filter on it, so it would not be tampered with by anyone coming in to hunt for that document that they had mislaid in the maelstrom of paper when they last had a meeting with Tonks. 

Despite the stressful nature of the job, Tonks found a certain solace in her work. This was something that was all consuming but she was good at it. Disorganised, maybe, but efficient and fair and hardworking. Remus had his work in the archives cataloging and organising the wizarding world’s largest library and she had this. Tonks had wanted to be an Auror for as long as she could remember and the job had not disappointed. The work was stimulating and the people that she worked with were interesting and dynamic. Harry had joined the department too and was quickly working his way up the ranks. She was sure that one day he would be head of the department. Draco Malfoy had also joined at a similar time. There was a large amount of rumour, intrigue, and lets be honest, fear, about his appointment. But he had proved himself to be a hard worker and a master juggler. He did not let on to many people about his problems at home but Tonks knew. After the loss of her second child, Astoria had come to see her. It was a conversation she would never forget and one that changed her entire perspective of Draco and his wife. Harry’s son James had been born around the same time and whilst Tonks was delighted for Harry and Ginny, she could not quite bring herself to be even in the same room as James. Instead, as much to Tonks’ surprise as anyone else’s, she had found herself one evening in Astoria’s kitchen, the floodgates opened and for the first time since the 31st December, the utter incomprehensible loss that Tonks was feeling became manifest. She could not cry like this in front of Remus. She knew that he had taken this all incredibly hard, blaming himself and literally clinging onto Teddy (he probably did not put the boy down for about a month and a half). Tonks knew that if Remus saw her like this, that would be the end. 

When Scorpius was born two years later, Tonks had visited Astoria. It was obvious that Astoria had been weakened and was now dangerously ill. The incredible pain and joy that Scorpius’ birth had brought her was writ across her face. 

“Whatever happens, Scorpius is alright. He’s OK. He will be OK. And I will get better than this. And I will have time with him.” Astoria had said. The truth was, Scorpius did not look that OK. He was underweight and there was a certain ill pallor about him. Astoria asked if Tonks wanted to hold him. Tonks took the small silent bundle in her arms and was immediately transported back two years. She had never got to hold her child. But then Scorpius wiggled slightly, fussing in his cocoon, and she was brought back to the present and she was utterly overwhelmed with a rush of affection for Scorpius and Astoria who had both survived insurmountable odds. It was a step in her grieving process and she had gone full circle. Her cursed child had died, but Astoria’s lived. 

“What would you have called -“ Astoria had asked, but she was cut off by Tonks’ reply. 

“Phoenix” Astoria smiled softly. Of course. The firebird that rose from the ashes defying death. If only Tonks’ child had. Later that week Tonks had gone with Remus and Teddy to visit the Potters. For the first time, she felt able to play with James and even held five month old Albus. When Lily was born, she was her Godmother. Molly was particularly overjoyed at this. The Weasley matriarch doted on Teddy and had keenly felt the Lupin’s loss. Molly had never forgotten Remus’ promise to look after her family in the event of her death. It was a promise that Molly held dearly, never forgot and seemingly never stopped trying to repay. Tonks knew that Molly, and probably Ginny, would be at her house tonight. They always were on New Years Eve. 

There was a soft rap of knuckles on her door. Tonks picked up her cloak, noxed the lights in her office and answered the door. It was Harry. The father of three was looking even more ruffled than usual, if that was even possible. 

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, hands stuffed in pockets. Tonks nodded. The two talked idly as they made their way to the flue network. Apparently Draco was being stubborn about something or other. Tonks rebuked Harry, reminding him that not only did he have a stressful job to deal with, he was also trying to parry some rather hideous rumours. She did not tell Harry about Astoria’s ill health; it was a matter that Draco and Astoria wanted kept private and Tonks honoured that. She was sure that Draco would tell Harry with time. 

There was no queue for the flue network tonight. Tonks suspected that most people had gone home early tonight and it was only the either committed or unattached few that remained to work into New Years Eve night. Tonks stepped into the flue first and after a whirl of green flame, she found herself sliding into her hallway at home. She got up and nearly fell over again. It turns out that clumsiness does not necessarily abate with age. She was just hanging her cloak on the hook when Harry came through. 

“Agh” he said, standing and inspecting the hall “This looks lovely Tonks.” The hall had been decorated with red and gold ribbons and garlands of holly. Small yellow lights hung around the room and as an enchanted elf decoration on a broom flew around his head, Harry could not think of a more festive looking scene if he tried. 

“Actually this is all Remus’ handiwork. He loves Christmas and goes a bit overboard if you ask me. Its just more things to knock into and more things for him to dust, but he doesn’t see it that way” Tonks replied, shrugging. “You just wait until you see the tree that takes up at least one third too much of the living room”

Harry laughed, asking what proportion of the living room it currently took up. 

“A third” Tonks replied, smiling brightly as Harry pulled her into a one armed hug as Molly came out of the kitchen to greet them. 

“There you are! We thought that you’d never leave! Work has to stop sometime you know.” Molly’s hands were on her hips and Harry suddenly remembered her telling off Fred and George for flying the Ford Anglia in a similar way. “Anyway, how are you dears? Harry, darling, you look like you could drop.” 

“I’m fine really Molly” he said, giving her a hug and looking over her shoulder to smile at Ginny who was now chopping onions in what he deemed to be a wholly inefficient way. He left Molly’s arms and walked over to his wife and giving her a quick kiss, proceeded to liberate both her and Molly from the cooking. Molly and Ginny exchanged knowing looks. Arthur rolled his eyes. 

“Where’s Remus and Teddy?” Tonks asked, sitting down at the table. 

“Teddy is not feeling well. Some kind of stomach bug I think and Remus is just sat with him. He said he’d be down when you came in” Molly replied and Tonks nodded, knowing how protective Remus was of Teddy even at the best of times, never mind when he was ill. Tonks knew that whatever it was it was not serious or else Remus would have called her. All the same, she still wanted to go and see Teddy and have little time with Remus alone. 

“I’ll just go up and check on them. Won’t be anything much though” Tonks said, excusing herself from the table and narrowly avoiding colliding with the doorframe as she left. As she climbed the stairs, she could see that Teddy’s door was slightly ajar. She gently pushed it open to see a sleeping Teddy with Remus crouched holding his arm. Remus turned slowly to face her. He looked heartbreakingly sad. 

“He’s fine. Just a little stomach upset” Remus whispered “I just hate it when he’s ill. Especially around this time of year.” Tonks walked over to him and carded her hand through his now grey hair. 

“I know, darling. I know.” Tonks replied. Remus gave a curt nod. “But he’s fine Remus. He’s OK. He will be OK. And you are OK. And you will have lots of time with him” Remus nodded again, not knowing that his wife was repeating what Astoria Malfoy had said to her a little over nine years ago, and exhaled loudly as if trying to keep his emotions in check. But it wasn’t working. Tonks watched his jaw tremble and she dropped to the floor, her hand knitting into Remus’ on Teddy’s arm. Her other hand reached out to pull Remus close to her. He rocked forwards from his heels, his weight falling onto Tonks. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry” he repeated into her neck like a mantra. 

“I’m sorry too Remus. But it is not your fault.” Tonks replied, her voice strong. She wanted Remus to not just hear her, but to listen to what she said. She did not blame him. Nor would she ever. “I love you.” Remus nodded into her neck again, his arm looping around to her back. 

“I love you too” he replied. “Eleven…” 

“Eleven. And a Gryffindor I bet.” Tonks said, pulling back slightly to look at her husbands face. Even in the dim light, she could see that he had been crying prior to her arrival. 

“Really?” Remus said. 

“Yeah” said Tonks with a small smile “Loyal and brave and courageous. Just like their old man.” 

“But I’m not loyal” Remus said. And the dam broke, Remus face crumpled. Tonks drew him back towards her once more and replied in earnest. 

“Yes, yes you are. Anything that you did was because you wanted Teddy and I to have a good life.” Tonks said, willing her husband to understand. He nodded again and as he moved, Tonks felt his tears dampen her neck. Sometimes he just needed reassurance and that was fine by her, because sometimes she needed it too. They sat like this on Teddy’s floor until Remus untangled himself and stood. 

“We should be going downstairs” he said, wiping his face with his palms. Tonks nodded and took Remus’ outstretched hand, closing the door softly on Teddy. When they appeared downstairs, if anyone noticed Remus’ bloodshot eyes, they didn’t comment on it. They ate in a comfortable silence and after they had finished, the six moved into the garden. Harry lit a single firework and sent it up. An orange flare screamed into the air and burst open; red and gold against the inky sky and a bright half moon. 

————————————————————————————————————————

The child was asleep in the chair in such a position it looked like they had been thrown there. Long legs dangled over the threadbare arms and their head lolled on the wing, right arm thrown casually above. The candle affixed to the wall cast a soft glow over them, flickering only slightly as the front door of the establishment was opened and closed by its snow dusted patrons. Although no-one openly remarked on the presence of the child, they cast it a suspicious look as they entered before crossing to the other side of the room and turning their heavily cloaked backs. 

Despite the fact that it was New Years Eve, the tavern was not particularly busy this evening on account of the large snow storm that had hit the region earlier in the week. The town was still shrouded in at least a foot of snow, an unusually large amount for Skåne this time of year. Some residents shrugged it off as climate change, others looked to the wolf pack that had moved through the area this month. Discrimination against the lupine community, even in such a socially liberal country, was still rife. The idea that a travelling wolf pack would bring bad luck was a common superstition that had not abated, even after the Second Wizarding War and the apparent gains made in the understanding, and arguably humanising, of the lupine community. 

As the night wore on, the child slept on undisturbed. There were murmurings at the bar that maybe the child should be moved on, but no real action was taken. They were all talk, no-one yet brave enough to actually approach the the child. The rumours about how these packs operated were not unfounded. First they would move into an area and distribute seemingly harmless children to be taken into the care of concerned members of the public. Then, when the moment was right, the child would let the adult wolf waiting in the woods into the unassuming good samaritan’s house, lining them up for a biting. There were other stories too, of more minor crimes such as pickpocketing and distraction techniques and petty theft. 

The landlady of the tavern was now well into her forties and she was pretty sure that her memory should not be fading yet but she certainly did not remember letting the child in. The first that she noticed of them was when she went to clean the table next to the chair in which they were now draped. Previously the child was sat hunched over a piece of parchment that they were fervently drawing on. As the landlady approached, they seemed to fold in on themselves as if to make themselves less noticeable and she could see that they were breathing rather heavily. She asked the child if they were alright and was answered with a small, almost imperceptible nod. Under thick brown lashes, the landlady could just about see they eyes that were not quite human and their face was marked and suddenly it clicked. They were part of the pack. They must have been. Or rather, they had been left by the pack for whatever reason. The landlady cleared the table quickly whilst she considered what to do. She looked back again at the scrawny child. How much damage could they really do? She also did a quick bit of maths and happy that the full moon was weeks off, she decided to let them be. Eventually the child had fallen asleep. They obviously felt a bit more relaxed by the fact that the landlady had not hoofed them out onto the sheet as they certainly did not sleep in the same way that they sat. They were taking full advantage of the size of the chair and the landlady could not help but think that the child’s position could not be comfortable. But as long as they remained that way, not bothering her clientele, they could stay. 

And so it remained until the Holgunds came. The Holgunds were well known in the area, a couple in the fifties who had retired from their work in the Magesterium in Stockholm. As soon as they came in, they clocked the child and stalked to the bar. All of the murmurings from earlier in the evening were now growing in strength and conviction, driven primarily by the Holgunds. After all, the reasoning went, if they used to work for the government, they must be correct. And so, the landlady’s patrons came to insist that the child was removed. Except they did not refer to them as a child. They called them a dog. Jeered on by the others at the bar, the landlady felt she had no choice but to take action. She suddenly felt buoyed by the mob mentality and strode across to the sleeping child. She was going to shout at it but something stopped her. From this angle, with the shadows cast over their face to hide their scars, the child could be just that. A human child. Not some freak. Not some volatile beast with a vicious blood lust. She crouched down, her hand quivering with an odd but very real impulse to stroke the child’s thick brown hair. 

“Jag är ledsen” the landlady whispered in the child’s ear. The response was instantaneous. The child’s eyes snapped open and, with a speed that alarmed the landlady, was suddenly on their upright, fisted balled in anticipation at their side, bouncing slightly on the balls of their feet. Their was a wild look in the child’s vivid green eyes with pupils far too large but their face was like flint. It was easy to see now why people were afraid; there was an anger their and a fierce intelligence. This was not the face of someone who could be taken advantage of. This was someone who surely took advantage of others. They were cunning. Or so the landlady thought. “Kunderna är inte nöjd med dig här. Du måste lämna.”

But as the landlady kept speaking, the child’s eyes and face softened. The child could be no older than ten or eleven. At a push twelve. Although they were tall, perhaps unusually so for their uncertain age, and their face was riddled with angry red scars, there was a certain youth about them and an energy that seemed to be in opposition of the child’s painfully thin frame. They were clad in a flimsy looking grey long sleeve shirt but heavier black trousers, held up by what must have been an adults belt, wrapping as it did around the waist of the child twice. For some unknown reason, that impulse that she had before returned and she wanted to hold the child. She supposed it was because they would have been roughly the same age as her own daughter. She shuddered to think what parent would let their child become the neglected being that currently stood before her. But then again, the mother probably had little choice. These children were never born of loving relationships after all. They were the byproduct of an assault. Of course the mother would want rid of it. Why would anyone want to look at the living embodiment of evil everyday? The landlady steeled herself and continued, but she needn’t have bothered. The child had already begun moving towards the door. 

“Du måste-“ she began. 

“Jag vet” the child replied. All fight had now gone. They were resigned, as if this was something that they heard every day. The gut wrenching truth was that they probably did. The landlady would have preferred if they had put up a fight. It would have made it easier somehow. It would have made the child fit the stereotype better and therefore the justification for sending them out into steely wind and bitter cold would have been more clear. But there was nothing, just the soft closing of the door as they left. The landlady wandered over to the bar, the remaining patrons clapping her as she came. Any regret about what she had done soon faded. After all, she had a business to run and a family to feed. No runt of the litter was going to stop her. 

As soon as they had stepped out of the bar, the child knew that they would have to find shelter somewhere. It was definitely below freezing and they were not wanting to spend too much time in this kind of weather without so much as a jumper. Winding their way through the town, the child found themselves at the edge of the woods. The child did not know how long they had walked through the woodland but they started going downhill. 

“I thought Skåne was flat” they muttered to themselves, mildly dreading the uphill climb that was sure to come. As they reached the bottom of a large rift valley, it dawned on the child as to where they must be. They were in Söderåsen National Park; Skåne's Grand Canyon. On flatter ground, they decided to warm up a little and run. They eventually hit a train track and began to walk along it, balancing on the rails. As a challenge, they child tried to walk on their hands along the sleepers and it was whilst the child was upside down, that they noticed the lights of a diesel train in the distance. Tipping back onto their feet, the child stepped back and waited. It was a passenger train with some kind of freight capacity behind it.

The child stood by the tracks as the train roared past. The air whipped around them and the noise was exhilarating rather than scary which was unusual for them; usually they hated any loud, sudden sound but this was more like music, which the child loved. That rush of energy and speed was exactly what they needed to end what had been a rather stagnate, uneventful day. Looking down the line, they could see that the train had at least another thirty carts to it. This was their ticket out of here. The child crouched down and unlaced their boots; a sensible pair of shoes inherited from the last prize fighter when they had met an untimely end in the Autumn. The child was better running barefoot as they could get onto the balls of their feet more. It seemed unnatural to them to walk on the soles of their feet. After all, thats not what werewolves did during the full moon. 

Timing was everything. They closed their eyes and counted, adjusting to the rhythm of the train. Eyes snapped open once more and they began. Stick like legs suddenly adopted a power that seemed unreasonable, boots left on the snowy ground. The strength with which they moved and the length of the child’s stride was something to behold, not that anyone was watching of course. The child knew that tonight they were alone, the rest of the pack headed south across the sea to Poland. Their pace built and built and built and built, bare feet barely touching the snow covered ground as they flew alongside the train. The trees alongside the track became a blur as their vivid green eyes, pupils dilated, focused in on their target, like a wolf honing in on its prey. 

With a shout, they leapt. Airborne they glided with an unexpected grace. The long limbs that leant the child a certain gangly and almost ungainly demeanour when stationary suddenly became balletic. This child had a body that was made to move. They landed gracefully on top of the metal bed as if this was a manoeuvre that was executed regularly. Looking back, they could see a small black dot on the white ground. The boots. Holding a hand out, they summoned them. A slight shift and then they suddenly hurtled towards their owner. A cheap trick, the child thought, but a useful one as they put their socks and boots back on in the bitter cold. 

Tucking their chin into their chest, the child walked along the roof of the moving train, jumping between flat carriages as they went. They supposed that they would normally be used to transport cars. Once they had reached the passenger section it would simply be a matter of unlocking the carriage door and stepping in unseen. The cold and the whipping wind and snow was making concentration difficult but they focussed as best they could on the door handle. Willing it to open up, they waited until the metal handle clicked down and the door opened a few centimetres. They were in. Thankfully, the guard was not. Shaking slightly as they moved from the cold to the warmth, the child entered the main carriage. It was deserted and suddenly the child remembered what day it was. It was New Years Eve. People would be celebrating not travelling tonight. The child felt a little safer in this empty muggle carriage than they had in the quiet wizarding tavern. They’d long ago stopped thinking that this was bizarre state of affairs as generally muggles left them alone whereas witches and wizards were considerably more hostile. 

The child lay on their stomach across three seats and pulled out of their trouser pockets a pencil and a very battered looking piece of parchment. Drawn on it were a number of different faces as well as the picture of what would, to a muggle, have looked like a cage fighting ring. This was how the child documented their life. A pictorial diary since words eluded them. No-one had ever bothered to teach them how to read or write. Why would they? Subhuman thing that they were. 

The child thrust their hand into their incredibly capacious pockets (one of the child’s standards that they refused to compromise on was that they always wore wizard tailored trousers on account of their pockets that were bigger on the inside) and pulled out a half eaten bar of chocolate that they had won in an arm wrestle against a muggle child in Ystad. Breaking off a piece and nibbling the end of if, they set about starting to draw the train. The child’s hands were twisted, two fingers on each hand permanently bent towards the palm, but by the quality of their drawing, they were obviously still very dextrous. Earlier in the year, they had also had the opportunity to practice some guitar. It was tricky not having all the required digits but they managed to work around it. They wanted to try the piano next. 

A series of bangs erupted outside the train and the child’s head snapped up, their muscles tensed, ready to fight. But they soon relaxed as the carriage was illuminated by fireworks dancing across the sky. It was still a little too loud though and so they put a muffling charm on the window. The colours were lovely but the reminder of the sounds of spells rebounding on walls or cracking out of wands as they ran or fought, they could live without. The lights of the fireworks didn’t threaten them. Only light from wands threatened them but it was an association that the child could not help. And so the child lay, eating chocolate and watching the fireworks over the trees, humming Old Lang Syne to themselves, unaware that it was their eleventh birthday. Unaware that they were loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Any feedback is most welcome. If you'd like to read more, I'm thinking of turning this into a series, bringing in more orginal, canon and Cursed Child characters. I'm really interested in exploring Scorpius' relationship with the other 'cursed child'. I'm also trying to engineer a way for Credence to make an appearance.


End file.
